


you calm the storm

by settledthesun



Category: Faking It (TV 2014)
Genre: Amy and Reagan continue to handle things like adults, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Post 2x08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 03:59:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2607659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/settledthesun/pseuds/settledthesun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘Are you ready?’</p><p>You nod because you are. </p><p>You’re ready to feel something not put together piece by piece out of guilt. You’re ready to feel something and not have it knocked back down; somewhere in between watching from afar, and being caught right in the rubble.'</p><p>or</p><p>After spending the night together and the truth coming out, Amy tells Reagan about Liam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you calm the storm

**Author's Note:**

> because how could i not write something after that last episode?  
> title taken from graffiti6's 'calm the storm'

‘Are you ready?’

You nod because you are. 

You’re ready to feel something not put together piece by piece out of guilt. You’re ready to feel something and not have it knocked back down; somewhere in between watching from afar, and being caught right in the rubble.

You’re ready to erase the fuzzy memories of rough hands and peeking stubble with soft touches and even softer lips. You’re ready to do this because you’ve found a person you trust and care for more with every passing day.

You’re ready to give yourself to another person out of want, out of desire, rather than a twisted act of drunken revenge.

You’re ready to do something for yourself.

You’re ready to allow yourself this.

 

Hours later, you’re lying beside Reagan.

Your mom doesn’t know she’s here, and she rarely comes into your room anyway, so you don’t worry about being caught.

Reagan drifted into sleep a little while ago as you drew shapes on her bare back, her face tucked into the crook of your neck. You feel the way her breath gently tickles at your skin, and you remember the way her lips had kissed the same place an hour ago.

You remember the way your heart had jumped when she’d pulled your shirt over your head, and the way it had almost stopped all together when she’d hooked her fingers over the top of your underwear.

(‘You’re sure?’

‘I’m sure of you.’)

You were nervous, and she had been able to tell. Reagan knew this wasn’t your first time, and though you hadn’t disclosed all the details, she knew it hadn’t been the greatest of experiences.

So with each murmured ‘beautiful’ against your body, and each kiss pressed to your skin, your nerves had slowly disappeared, replaced with something else altogether.  
She went slowly. So slow that you almost demanded she get on with it and just ‘do something’, but you saw the way she smirked against your hipbone and you knew she was enjoying this just as much as you were. 

Later, when she had kissed your lips hard and left you gasping against her mouth, back arching and mind clouding, you knew you’d let her ruin you.

Not in the way Karma had. Karma had broken right through your chest, though not intentionally, and made her claim. She tugged and pulled and squeezed to the point where you didn’t understand how your heart was still beating. And when she finally left, she left you with the mess.

But now you know, watching the rise and fall of Reagan’s chest, that you would let her take you apart. You’d let her turn you to pieces because you know she would build you right back up again.

 

(It’s not until the next morning, when you check your phone for the first time in hours, that you feel the familiar tremors of something bigger threatening to break your walls down again.)

 

‘Karma?’

She’s standing by her locker. It’s lunch, and this is the first time you’ve seen her since Liam told her the truth. You see her stiffen at your voice, though she doesn’t turn to face you straight away. When she does, your feelings of nausea only heighten at her blank expression. She walks towards you, slowly. Maybe she’s not mad. Maybe she understands. Maybe she-.

Her hand shoots out and slaps you across your cheek before you could even begin to prevent it.

She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to.

She stares at you for a moment with a look you’ve never received from her; not even after knowing each other for so many years. You wish there was another way to describe, but there just isn’t. She’s looking at you with pure, simple hatred.

You don’t lift your hand to rub your cheek, despite the sharp stinging. Neither of you are moving and you’re too scared to be the first, as if trying not to scare a startled animal. You hold her gaze, despite wanting nothing more than to take her in yours arms, to beg for her forgiveness. You know she won’t give you it though. You know she’s even listen to an explanation, not now. It’s not like you even have one, not really.

Then she’s lifting her chin, holding her head high, and walks past you; away from you.

(You don’t move for another five minutes.)

 

‘How are you?’ Shane asks as you’re leaving Algebra, your final class of the day. 

You know what he really means is, ‘how is she? how did she take it?’ but you also know he doesn’t really care for Karma, and even though you and he are friends, he still thrives on gossip more than anyone else in this ridiculous school.

‘I don’t know,’ is all you say.

‘What do you think she’ll do?’ Lauren questions, seemingly appearing out of nowhere to walk on your other side.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, she doesn’t really have to do anything, I suppose,’ she says. ‘Everyone knows now.’

‘Not everyone,’ Shane says pointedly. ‘Not everyone we know goes to Hester, remember.’

You come to a halt in the middle of the corridor.

Reagan.

 

You tell her everything.

She tells you she’ll call in a few days.

‘I’m not mad,’ she says. ‘It has nothing to do with me, not really. I just wish you would tell me things.’

(You go to bed at seven, confident at least in the knowledge that this day couldn’t get any worse.)

 

Reagan comes to see you on Sunday afternoon.

‘Karma gate’, as you now refer to it, happened on the Friday, and you’ve spent all weekend in bed.)

You had spent the last few days convincing yourself that Reagan would come to her senses and dump you. You’d given into becoming a total cliché within an hour on Friday night, and the weekend had been spent listening to sad music and flipping through photos of the two of you on your phone.

You assume Lauren must have told your mom some excuse, because although she pops her head around the door a few times to ask how you are, she doesn’t seem overly concerned.

(She does ask if Reagan is coming round this weekend though, and that would fill you with warmth if the mention of her name didn’t make you want to burst into tears.)

So when there comes a knock at your door on this late Sunday afternoon, you just grumble ‘not now, Lauren,’ into your pillow, and burrow deeper into your duvet, determined to shut everything out for just a little while longer.

Your hear the door open anyway, and you’re tempted to take the pillow you’re in the process of shoving over your head and throwing it in the direction of the intruder, when you feel the bed dip, and the covers are tugged as the person slips in beside you.

Under any other circumstance, you would be ready to scream bloody murder, but, as embarrassing as it may be to admit, you recognise the perfume as soon as she reaches your bed.

(Every time you glance at her neck, it makes you think of jasmine, and the way you breathe it in when you press soft kisses there.)

Reagan slides in next to you without saying anything, wrapping an arm around you waist and pulling you flush against her.

‘Hey,’ she says.

‘Hi,’ you say, a little unsure. When she doesn’t reply, you add. ‘I think you may have gotten me mistaken for someone else. Perhaps someone who doesn’t manage to destroy everything she touches.’

Reagan snorts, blowing warm air against your neck. ‘I’m starting to think maybe you should’ve joined that drama club after all.’

‘Reagan,’ you say, resisting the urge to smile at her comment. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Should I not be here?’

‘No, it’s just-,’ you trail off. ‘Well, don’t you hate me?’

‘Amy,’ she says. You turn so you’re on your back now, feeling a little closer, but still not wanting to look her in the eye. ‘Of course I don’t hate you.’

‘You should.’

‘Don’t say that,’ she reaches over and tucks her hand under your shirt, pressing it gently to your stomach. It’s not sexual; not like the other night, but it provides you with a closeness, a comfort that you know she’s trying to give you, her warm palm against you skin. It’s an intimacy you’ve been craving.

‘Why not? I’m a horrible person.’

‘Everyone makes mistakes, Amy. I didn’t know you then. I’m not saying what you did was necessarily okay, but I’ve certainly made my fair share of mistakes over the years, and I know you would never judge me for them.’

You don’t realise you’re crying until she wipes at you cheek and her thumbs comes away wet.

‘You really don’t hate me?’

‘Amy Raudenfeld, it’s unfathomable to me how anyone could hate you.’

The sound that leaves your mouth is somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and makes Reagan smile and move her hand to your hips, tugging gently to turn you on your side and make you face her.

‘I don’t know what’s going to happen with Karma. That’s for the two of you to work out. But I can promise you that I’ll be right here while you do that.’

You can safely say that you’re crying now, but you’re also smiling. Reagan leans in and gently bumps her nose against yours, something you’ve done to her countless times before. She kisses you on your cheek, removing the last of your tears.

‘Cheer up, kid,’ she says. ‘Look like you’re stuck with me.’

‘Shut up, you’re only nineteen’ you laugh, shoving her playfully in the shoulder. She just catches your hand in hers, lacing your fingers together.

‘And therefore much wiser. So,’ she presses a gentle kiss to your lips, ‘you should believe me when I tell you everything’s going to be okay.’

You sigh, pressing your forehead against hers.

‘You know,’ you say. ‘You actually make me believe that.’

‘Come here,’ she says, pulling you flush up against her. ‘When was the last time you got some proper sleep?’

‘Thursday,’ you mumble into her shirt.

‘Go to sleep, Amy.’

‘You’ll be here when I wake up?’

‘Raudenfeld,’ she says, wrapping her arms around you. ‘I can’t see myself wanting to be anywhere else anytime soon.’

 

Sometime later, just as you find yourself on the brink of sleep, the words ‘I love you’ come to mind.

You lift your head to find Reagan has fallen asleep before you.

You press a soft kiss to her forehead.

(It can wait until the morning.)


End file.
